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The Sparring Grounds [Open RP]

There was nothing fancy about Riven's reaction to Jarvan's apparent "miss." Riven was smart enough to the know the Prince would never miss her on purpose at such a close range. She also knew his technique for dashing across the field at high speed to slam into opponents, and she was well aware of his Demacian Standard. There was no mystery to what the prince was doing. Sword in hand, the prince flying toward her, Riven reacted quickly.

As Jarvan neared her, Riven leapt to the side, and out of range of his slam. However, as she did, she spun her body around, the tip of her blade singing through the air and aiming to cut a swath across his body as he zipped past her position. At the speed he was going, and with his lance anchored firmly to his Standard, there would be little the Demacian prince would be able to do to outright avoid her slash, at least not with a lot of fancy maneuvering of some sort...

Another move Jarvan had not expected to work, at least not fully. He had assumed she would see through the standard tactic, and taken a guess at how she would counter. As it turned out, he had guessed right. Not allowing himself a moment's satisfaction, he instead turned his thoughts to the more current problem - how to deal with it. There was an opportunity for him to land a hit here, but not without taking one himself. Wary of her blade as he was, he wondered if the exchange was worth it. He was out of time to think - it was time to take action.

In one fluid movement, Jarvan released his lance for a split second and threw himself into a spin. Twisting mid-air, the prince ripped his sword free from its sheath and extended the blade as he scarcely managed to close his fingers around the grip of his lance once more with his other hand. Now, rather than cut straight down his side, Riven's sword would merely graze his front. A light wound he could ignore if it even managed to penetrate his armor. And she would have her own problems to deal with, caused by his own sowrd that was rapidly nearing her torso.

Another move Jarvan had not expected to work, at least not fully. He had assumed she would see through the standard tactic, and taken a guess at how she would counter. As it turned out, he had guessed right. Not allowing himself a moment's satisfaction, he instead turned his thoughts to the more current problem - how to deal with it. There was an opportunity for him to land a hit here, but not without taking one himself. Wary of her blade as he was, he wondered if the exchange was worth it. He was out of time to think - it was time to take action.

In one fluid movement, Jarvan released his lance for a split second and threw himself into a spin. Twisting mid-air, the prince ripped his sword free from its sheath and extended the blade as he scarcely managed to close his fingers around the grip of his lance once more with his other hand. Now, rather than cut straight down his side, Riven's sword would merely graze his front. A light wound he could ignore if it even managed to penetrate his armor. And she would have her own problems to deal with, caused by his own sword that was rapidly nearing her torso.

Riven didn't budge, or give ground this time. Instead, as Jarvan's sword moved to slash at her side, it would crash against a barrier of green light, Riven's Valor protecting her from harm, all as she threw her body into her swing, compensating for the prince's motion with her own, aiming to thrust her sword further into him for a powerful blow, amplified by her passive ability. Four times the striking power would hammer into Prince Jarvan's chest with the cutting tip of Riven's blade. Even if it did not cleave through his armor to cut him, the force of the impact against his armor would be a terribly powerful jarring impact, and likely send him off-course, as well as causing damage to the golden mail.

As the prince would zip past, regardless of the trade of blows, Riven would spin on her heels, chamber her legs, and leap off after Jarvan, her eyes filled with determination and resolve. She would give him everything she had, without holding back. She tore across the field, sword crackling with power as she prepared for her next onslaught...and sped into the dragon-slayer's den at a full clip.

*after calculating what was a full turn, Xin Zhao put down his feets firmly as he suddently dashed quite quickly to pantheon, starting his first poke. the distance between the two was suprisingly got really close with this sudden dash as he tried to make his landing so that the poke was a safe one, where it wouldn't be in the spear distance of attack even thought the fact that this weapon could be thrown made this fight a bit more harder to read.

((used my E to initiate XD))

Pantheon had seen this move used many times before on the Fields of Justice, and therefore it came as no surprise to him when Xin Zhao rushed at him. However, such an attack hardly warranted a counterattack. Xin Zhao had not taken any risks, nor made mistakes that could have been exploited. At least, for the time being. Pantheon merely motioned to block the incoming strike with his shield, but otherwise did nothing. For the time being, he was going to stay defensive.

After the first poke done, Xin kept on with two or three pokes on the shield, just for a small reaction, an opening or a weakness. just a small movement or a back away would be his demise. Though Xin was underestimating the warrior in front of him as Pantheon stood his grounds quite fiercly.

Pantheon remained in his stance, making only small adjustments with his shield in response to Xin Zhao's strikes. Again, there was nothing to warrant a counterattack. Pantheon continued to hold his ground, barely even so much as twitching, aside from moving his shield. Pantheon was becoming slightly restless, although years and years of battle had helped him cope with such a feeling, and avoid rash decisions. He would be patient, and wait for his opening.

Riven didn't budge, or give ground this time. Instead, as Jarvan's sword moved to slash at her side, it would crash against a barrier of green light, Riven's Valor protecting her from harm, all as she threw her body into her swing, compensating for the prince's motion with her own, aiming to thrust her sword further into him for a powerful blow, amplified by her passive ability. Four times the striking power would hammer into Prince Jarvan's chest with the cutting tip of Riven's blade. Even if it did not cleave through his armor to cut him, the force of the impact against his armor would be a terribly powerful jarring impact, and likely send him off-course, as well as causing damage to the golden mail.

As the prince would zip past, regardless of the trade of blows, Riven would spin on her heels, chamber her legs, and leap off after Jarvan, her eyes filled with determination and resolve. She would give him everything she had, without holding back. She tore across the field, sword crackling with power as she prepared for her next onslaught...and sped into the dragon-slayer's den at a full clip.

Riven's sword slammed into Jarvan, the tip briefly finding purchase in the split made earlier, tearing down his chest for a a foot, the cuts forming a misshapen cross on his chest. The impact knocked the shortsword from Jarvan's hand and it clattered noisily onto the stone floor as Jarvan continued forward. Reaching the standard, his feet hit the ground and he slid back away from the standard, finally coming to stop *** feet back. Hefting his lance over his shoulder once more, he turned to face the Exile.

He had been hit hard. His head hung, face shadowed. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, hitting the ground and pooling beneath him. His breathing was strained, ragged. One would think him a man on his last legs. That thought would be cast off instantly when he looked up.

His eyes were fixed on the warrior rushing at him, clear as day and burning with defiance and determination. They flashed to the standard for a moment, locked on the Demacian flag fluttering in the breeze before returning to Riven as she drew near. For the sake of those who looked to him, those he stood to protect, he could not lose. The thought shined in his eyes, and burst forth onto the battleground, fierce and unrelenting, as the prince let loose a scream that sounded nearly inhuman, seeming to shake the arena as it came out in one single word as he leapt at her.

Riven's sword slammed into Jarvan, the tip briefly finding purchase in the split made earlier, tearing down his chest for a a foot, the cuts forming a misshapen cross on his chest. The impact knocked the shortsword from Jarvan's hand and it clattered noisily onto the stone floor as Jarvan continued forward. Reaching the standard, his feet hit the ground and he slid back away from the standard, finally coming to stop *** feet back. Hefting his lance over his shoulder once more, he turned to face the Exile.

He had been hit hard. His head hung, face shadowed. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, hitting the ground and pooling beneath him. His breathing was strained, ragged. One would think him a man on his last legs. That thought would be cast off instantly when he looked up.

His eyes were fixed on the warrior rushing at him, clear as day and burning with defiance and determination. They flashed to the standard for a moment, locked on the Demacian flag fluttering in the breeze before returning to Riven as she drew near. For the sake of those who looked to him, those he stood to protect, he could not lose. The thought shined in his eyes, and burst forth onto the battleground, fierce and unrelenting, as the prince let loose a scream that sounded nearly inhuman, seeming to shake the arena as it came out in one single word as he leapt at her.

"DEMACIAAAA!"

Somewhere, across the depths of time and space, across the ether of dimensions, a song was playing. A more proper backdrop for this battle, there was not. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnBlMGneryw)

The fires of the underbelly of Noxus were fierce. They burned hot, belching black smoke into the sky from endless sources as the Noxian War Forges churned and produced the strongest weapons in all of Noxus. From this burning cauldron of might, a blade was forged from the mighty material known only as Blackstone. So rare was this ore that almost the entire supply from a single exclusive merchant was used to forge one sword. The material was all but unbreakable. So strong was it that magic itself was used to shape the stone into a blade, as no amount of heating and hammering with a traditional forge could chain it to its will, and more still was used to infuse it with a mighty enchantment; to harness the very willpower of the wielder and bring it against those that would stand against him. For weeks the weapon was crafted by the most talented weapon-smiths of Noxus. It was the only one of its kind ever produced, and as such, upon the commissioning of the weapon, it was deemed that the weapon, a truly massive and iconic blade, only be given to the strongest spirit of Noxus, to carry on her might into battle.

From the depths of the Noxian slums, against all odds, a girl, believed to be an orphan, had trained for years with the best instructors the military could offer her. She fought to master a form of combat that many deemed hilarious and outlandish. The tiny thing desired to wield a blade nearly as large as she was. Despite the jeers, the girl had persevered. Her determination flew in the face of all logical expectations. She trained night and day, slept only when exhaustion took her body and will from her. Over time, the girl grew into a young woman, and with this growth, she bloomed into the single most beloved symbol of the Noxian Ideal. To be strong, to show others that she was capable of overcoming any doubts placed upon her, no matter the cost to herself. The single little girl, raised by the military, raised by Noxus itself, grew to be capable of fighting and defeating warriors with twice her experience, and could easily take on uneven odds, and come through victorious.

And then, she was called to the home of a Noxian General. There, the general, surrounded by others from the High Council, bestowed upon her the mightiest blade ever forged by Noxian hands, a Blackstone Runeblade. From there, it was decided that the girl would take command of a company of troops, train with them, learn their strengths, and then, head overseas to battle in Ionia...

The rest was known. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnBlMGneryw&t=2m29s) The destruction and devastation the young woman was forced to endure changed her in every way one could imagine. But the one thing that remained among it all, despite all that had happened, was her ferocious willpower, and her determination, and as Riven charged toward Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, there was nothing but steadfast resolve flowing through her veins. Her eyes burned with a mighty green glow.

As the man shouted, so did Riven, as she charged her blade with quite literally everything she had. As the prince descended, he would descend into a storm of emerald green arcs of power. The downward force and golden light of the lance was intercepted by the full might of Riven's runeblade and a truly massive erupting burst of her Ki Strike, the full might of the weapon slamming home with every ounce of vitality Riven had left in her body. The Prince wanted to fight all that Riven had? He wanted to try and test her willpower against his own? He would get every single ounce of it, with nothing held back. Nothing.

The blade's runes burned with a light so bright it was all but blinding, as and the power of Jarvan's lance pushed forward, the prince would see the mighty weapon begin to crack, green light erupting from the spider-webbing fractures. The ground beneath Riven's feet cratered with the force of the Prince's blow, his Cataclysm striking with all the thunderous force that was expected, the arena of rocks forming a barrier that most could not escape without summoner intervention. But in the middle of it all stood Riven, lacerations opening upon her body as her own power tore her apart from the inside out, the bones in her legs all but fracturing from the strain, even despite her blade's attempts to keep her upright, all to prove a point to the Demacian Prince.

She was not just some rookie upstart that he could crush with his seemingly invincible might. She was the hope of a nation, just like he was. She fought to change everything, and bring true strength and wisdom to a homeland she loved, despite how black it had become. Few could say they loved Noxus as much as Riven, and even less could claim they loved it more than she did. And as the prince watched, Riven's blade crackled with all her remaining power as she swung it, a massive maelstrom of green erupting from it as she unleashed the maximum power of her Wind Slash at close range against a no doubt stunned Prince.

With all the strength of a hurricane condensed into a single slash, pushed onward by Riven's own will, the strike would aim to slam into the prince with, everything... Never before in an arena fight had Riven actually aimed to hit anyone with the full power of her ultimate ability for fear of killing them. However, if anyone could take the full might of the strike, it would more than likely be the Prince. The force was so massive that Riven herself would not be capable of standing as it completed its unleashing, and regardless of the result of the attack, regardless of the power of the Cataclysm, Riven would be thrown backwards, a sickening wet crack sounding as her all but lifeless body was thrown into the very rock walls the prince had created with the force of his blow, a messy red stain decorating them

Riven's blade was utterly destroyed by the power she had unleashed, leaving only the standard remnant in its place. Her white tunic was completely covered in stains of red, and a trail leaked out from her mouth and onto the ground, staining the arena floor in a crimson shade. Her breathing was nearly non-existent. Her vision was dark, blurry. She had given her all to try and defeat the prince. Everything. The outcome at this point was irrelevant. Her body was battered and broken. Her legs were effectively shattered, as well as her entire ribcage. Shock alone seemed to dull the pain from the multitude of skeletal injuries, and the host of internal injuries to her vital organs. To top it all off, she was certain she had a severe concussion. The only thing that moved were Riven's golden eyes, slowly trying to make sense of her surroundings, along with the very uneven attempts for her to breathe with shattered ribs, and a pierced lung.

If Jarvan was not defeated, it didn't matter. Riven was in no shape to claim any sort of victory, other than a personal one for not standing down, and for facing the full might of the prince with, literally, everything she could offer. She merely wondered...had she done enough...?

Somewhere, across the depths of time and space, across the ether of dimensions, a song was playing. A more proper backdrop for this battle, there was not. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnBlMGneryw)

The fires of the underbelly of Noxus were fierce. They burned hot, belching black smoke into the sky from endless sources as the Noxian War Forges churned and produced the strongest weapons in all of Noxus. From this burning cauldron of might, a blade was forged from the mighty material known only as Blackstone. So rare was this ore that almost the entire supply from a single exclusive merchant was used to forge one sword. The material was all but unbreakable. So strong was it that magic itself was used to shape the stone into a blade, as no amount of heating and hammering with a traditional forge could chain it to its will, and more still was used to infuse it with a mighty enchantment; to harness the very willpower of the wielder and bring it against those that would stand against him. For weeks the weapon was crafted by the most talented weapon-smiths of Noxus. It was the only one of its kind ever produced, and as such, upon the commissioning of the weapon, it was deemed that the weapon, a truly massive and iconic blade, only be given to the strongest spirit of Noxus, to carry on her might into battle.

From the depths of the Noxian slums, against all odds, a girl, believed to be an orphan, had trained for years with the best instructors the military could offer her. She fought to master a form of combat that many deemed hilarious and outlandish. The tiny thing desired to wield a blade nearly as large as she was. Despite the jeers, the girl had persevered. Her determination flew in the face of all logical expectations. She trained night and day, slept only when exhaustion took her body and will from her. Over time, the girl grew into a young woman, and with this growth, she bloomed into the single most beloved symbol of the Noxian Ideal. To be strong, to show others that she was capable of overcoming any doubts placed upon her, no matter the cost to herself. The single little girl, raised by the military, raised by Noxus itself, grew to be capable of fighting and defeating warriors with twice her experience, and could easily take on uneven odds, and come through victorious.

And then, she was called to the home of a Noxian General. There, the general, surrounded by others from the High Council, bestowed upon her the mightiest blade ever forged by Noxian hands, a Blackstone Runeblade. From there, it was decided that the girl would take command of a company of troops, train with them, learn their strengths, and then, head overseas to battle in Ionia...

The rest was known. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnBlMGneryw&t=2m29s) The destruction and devastation the young woman was forced to endure changed her in every way one could imagine. But the one thing that remained among it all, despite all that had happened, was her ferocious willpower, and her determination, and as Riven charged toward Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, there was nothing but steadfast resolve flowing through her veins. Her eyes burned with a mighty green glow.

As the man shouted, so did Riven, as she charged her blade with quite literally everything she had. As the prince descended, he would descend into a storm of emerald green arcs of power. The downward force and golden light of the lance was intercepted by the full might of Riven's runeblade and a truly massive erupting burst of her Ki Strike, the full might of the weapon slamming home with every ounce of vitality Riven had left in her body. The Prince wanted to fight all that Riven had? He wanted to try and test her willpower against his own? He would get every single ounce of it, with nothing held back. Nothing.

The blade's runes burned with a light so bright it was all but blinding, as and the power of Jarvan's lance pushed forward, the prince would see the mighty weapon begin to crack, green light erupting from the spider-webbing fractures. The ground beneath Riven's feet cratered with the force of the Prince's blow, his Cataclysm striking with all the thunderous force that was expected, the arena of rocks forming a barrier that most could not escape without summoner intervention. But in the middle of it all stood Riven, lacerations opening upon her body as her own power tore her apart from the inside out, the bones in her legs all but fracturing from the strain, even despite her blade's attempts to keep her upright, all to prove a point to the Demacian Prince.

She was not just some rookie upstart that he could crush with his seemingly invincible might. She was the hope of a nation, just like he was. She fought to change everything, and bring true strength and wisdom to a homeland she loved, despite how black it had become. Few could say they loved Noxus as much as Riven, and even less could claim they loved it more than she did. And as the prince watched, Riven's blade crackled with all her remaining power as she swung it, a massive maelstrom of green erupting from it as she unleashed the maximum power of her Wind Slash at close range against a no doubt stunned Prince.

With all the strength of a hurricane condensed into a single slash, pushed onward by Riven's own will, the strike would aim to slam into the prince with, everything... Never before in an arena fight had Riven actually aimed to hit anyone with the full power of her ultimate ability for fear of killing them. However, if anyone could take the full might of the strike, it would more than likely be the Prince. The force was so massive that Riven herself would not be capable of standing as it completed its unleashing, and regardless of the result of the attack, regardless of the power of the Cataclysm, Riven would be thrown backwards, a sickening wet crack sounding as her all but lifeless body was thrown into the very rock walls the prince had created with the force of his blow, a messy red stain decorating them

Riven's blade was utterly destroyed by the power she had unleashed, leaving only the standard remnant in its place. Her white tunic was completely covered in stains of red, and a trail leaked out from her mouth and onto the ground, staining the arena floor in a crimson shade. Her breathing was nearly non-existent. Her vision was dark, blurry. She had given her all to try and defeat the prince. Everything. The outcome at this point was irrelevant. Her body was battered and broken. Her legs were effectively shattered, as well as her entire ribcage. Shock alone seemed to dull the pain from the multitude of skeletal injuries, and the host of internal injuries to her vital organs. To top it all off, she was certain she had a severe concussion. The only thing that moved were Riven's golden eyes, slowly trying to make sense of her surroundings, along with the very uneven attempts for her to breathe with shattered ribs, and a pierced lung.

If Jarvan was not defeated, it didn't matter. Riven was in no shape to claim any sort of victory, other than a personal one for not standing down, and for facing the full might of the prince with, literally, everything she could offer. She merely wondered...had she done enough...?

The prince was enveloped by golden light as the Aegis shielded him once more, doing little to intercept the Wind Slash. It did its part, however,- at least some of the attack was absorbed by the golden bubble. The rest of the attack tore into Jarvan, ripping his armor apart like paper. Blood sprayed out from him in a red mist, obscuring him from view as he shot toward Riven.

The Cataclysm that hit was massive. Jarvan hit like a meteor, the ground beneath immediately giving way and leaving a crater fifteen feet deep at the point of impact. The earth beyond split, sharp hills rising and wide chasms opening. The nearby cliffs began tumbling into the sea, which churned from the impact, massive waves rising up to crash against the sheer cliff face. There was not a trace left of the arena formerly standing around them, all remnants of the structure swallowed by earth, which could almost be heard screaming from the sheer force. That one person could do this was unthinkable.

Yet, as the last of the rocks fell from the sky and the dust cleared, there he stood. His chestplate and gauntlets had been stripped away by the attack entirely. Blood poured unabated from his extensive wounding - Riven's Wind Slash had left a massive gash across his torso, spanning from one arm across his chest to another. The skin across the front of his body was marred, and looked almost as though he'd been burned by attack. His arms were the worst, horrible slash marks on each of them from where he'd attempted to ward off the wind slash to little avail. How a man could even be alive after taking such an attack, much less standing, defied belief.

His body seemed to half agree with him as his knees gave beneath him. He jammed his lance into the ground to catch himself, and he leaned heavily on it for support as he straightened as best he could. Blue eyes fixed on the exile, crumpled against the wall of the crater, and he all but staggered over to her. Standing over the Exile, the prince spoke.

"Quite an effort, Riven. That was one of the most ferocious battles I've seen in all my days. I'd not thought any single human capable of giving me a battle like that all on their own."He paused as he chuckled, the action causing him to cough, blood trickling from his mouth and over his chin. "But in the end, I could not allow myself to lose to someone so weak willed."